A stroll round the village

Not able to walk up to Waterfall Ravine today for various reasons, so took the opportunity to walk Cleo around Kommetjie. A year ago, such an extended stroll would never have entered my head, but now it's like walking to the end of the road and back. The passing cold front brought in heavy seas - my favourite conditions when not in a boat - and a crisp southwester with the occasional shower, and this made for bracing walking and amazing scenery. Thirty-five years in this fairly isolated seaside village has seen it grow massively, but living down near the lighthouse in 'Old Kom' means we have retained much of the holiday feel of the early days when the surrounding plots were used by campers over Christmas and were empty for the rest of the year. It is very easy to walk down to the beach or the bay nearby and walk along the seafront to feel that you are still almost alone on the planet, and today was such a day, with only a few people out and a lone wolf (husky?) accompanying us on our trip from Long Beach to the Kom, where he must have had a home and an owner.
Along the way, we stopped at Espresso for coffee (Cleo jumped on my shoulder when she saw a dog that had barked at her when she was about 4 months old!) and had an interesting chat to a farmer from East London who was visiting Kommetjie for the first time and had taken a stroll along the sea front. Always happy to strike up a conversation with a stranger!

Toiling to the top

A fresh southeaster has sprung up in midwinter and we are promised a series of cold fronts coming straight up from the South Atlantic with polar air for next week. Not a normal weather pattern, but anything that brings rain will be welcome. The southeaster, however, is not our favourite wind - it brings out the worst in people with its incessant battering of the Peninsula, blowing branches off trees, swirling dust in mini-whirlwinds and banging doors and gates left inadvertently open. The only good it brings is the Cape Doctor, dispersing the smog from Cape Town and sending it far out to sea, never to return.
It was particularly strong up on the Glencairn mountains, where we hiked today, and although it kept us cool, we definitely had to work harder as we laboured against it. The track from the road up to Rooikrantz winds up through hills decorated by wind-weathered sandstone rock formations and covered in lush new growth of fynbos after yet another devastating fire a few years ago, with an unobstructed view across this pretty plateau snaking down the southern Peninsula. I have never been up there before and so was amazed by the views and what is easily accessible on our doorstep - flowers that are unique to this area, many good tracks all over the mountains, a bird's eye view of what is going on the (regrettably overdeveloped) valley and the opportunity to sit on a rock and let the cares of the world blow away in the wind!
Go there.

Salvaging single socks

You are probably aware that our left side is not the same as our right side and nowhere is it more apparent than our feet. My left side is slightly larger (I must emphasise the slightly) and so when I buy shoes, I always try on the left one first. If that shoe fits, the right one will, but if the right shoe fits, the left shoe will be too tight. This is a problem when it comes to socks. The left-hand (left-foot?) sock always wears through the big toe and the one next to it! I always make sure that sock goes back on the left foot to preserve the right sock and eventually throw it away.

There is no end to the supply of single socks in the sock drawer - you all know that in some faraway secret place is a massive population of unmatched socks - perhaps a website (Desperately Seeking Socks) would be a big hit, with mug shots of all the single socks.

And then today I had a brainwave as I looked down at two toes peeking forlornly out of my left-hand sock! I never wear shoes inside the house, but in winter I don't want to be barefoot. I can use all the single socks as house slippers! They will also pick up stray dog hair and I can run my toes along the skirting boards rather than having to bend down to dust. The toes won't wear through because they won't be rubbing against a shoe and they can be thrown in the washing machine with all the other household cloths.

The only thing to look out for will be slipping out to the shop for milk and bread and forgetting that I have odd socks on - but then again, have I ever worried about a skew look?

Orange Kloof, Hout Bay

Today dawned cloudless and warm, but at 7a.m. the wind suddenly blew in from the sea, icy cold, and a blanket of clouds draped the mountains almost as though someone had cast a tablecloth over them - in the blink of an eye. And so it was with a little trepidation that I headed off for Constantia Nek where the clouds and wind were pouring through the gap, ready for our hike in Orange Kloof. This reserve retains the last remnants of afro-montane forest and is restricted to a maximum of 12 hikers per day to keep the human footprint at the least damaging level. This being said, previous hikers don't have much sensitivity to nature, as a number of tissues littered the path - always an unnecessary eyesore and a sad social commentary. 

After an initially level section of the old track (concreted in places, but obviously many years ago), we started a fairly steep ascent, hugging the contours until we reached the upper end of the Hout Bay valley under heavy cloud cover. This was most welcome, as I had by then perspired buckets and on taking off my (synthetic) water-resistant jacket, found my puffy down jacket totally soaked through - a little soap and I could have given it a launder. The wind dried it in about half an hour and all was well again, but I will definitely have to look for something warm in a natural fabric!

The views, when the clouds permitted, were magnificent, with Muizenberg mountains to the left and the whole Hout Bay valley to the right. Down on the valley floor we could see the roofs of two very old houses completely obscured in the forest - would be interesting to know the history of what happened under those roofs. We eventually descended to the upper section of the Disa River where the track crossed it, and would have continued up along its banks to the waterfall if it had not meant another hour added on to the hike. It is not recommended in winter. A very pleasant half hour was spent relaxing on the rocks enjoying the tumbling river, still pristine before reaching the valley where unchecked pollution is destroying it. No fires have been here since the 1930s, although there was a very close call last year, and the thick vegetation offered a splendid display of different flora, some no doubt unique to the area, and really added to the pleasure of the hike.

The return trip was a backtrack - back up the track, a real slog and quite exhausting - followed by the long descent at a cracking pace. I was like the horse that wants to be first back at the stable! A total of 8.5km and an elevation of around 300m made for some fair exercise, rewarded by a cup of tea and a salad. How very restrained!

Reminders

When worldly matters make you weary, it is well to remember that the best things in life are free:

Step outside before dawn and listen to the birds waking up, chattering quietly in the undergrowth and the treetops. The boubou is waiting for the sunrise before hopping onto the deck and coming to say hello. The cacophonous call of the guinea fowl in the gum tree and the hadeda hollering on the roof make one wonder at their purpose in the avian world! The gentle melody of the turtle dove reminds me of leafy suburbia, in the old days when I was a child. A bokmakierie calls stridently from the hedge, no doubt looking for a mate as the balmy winter days mimic spring.

The glow of dawn colours the sky in indigo and orange, outlining my favourite Table Mountain view in silhouette, never changing and always 'home'. Looking out for the familiar V of sacred ibis crossing overhead, silently swishing by as they fly across the bay to their feeding ground beyond the lighthouse, along the rocky Atlantic shore where the sea has ebbed and flowed for millennia and will continue long after we are gone.

The people who pass through our lives - all for a reason, and to be accepted for who they are, not who society says they should be. We cannot be at peace while we have false expectations. Don't underestimate the power of the kindness of strangers - be that stranger to others. Remember who the real people are - not the politicians, the movie stars, the wealthy - but rather the people who reach out to help others in need, whether through words or actions, without seeking acknowledgement or repayment, but fellowship and service to others. Love and respect each other in the best way you know how. There is so much more good in the world than bad.

Early signs of spring - far too early

Friday was forecast to be a deluge, but nothing materialised in the southern Peninsula and so we were able to walk in the mountains above Glencairn - an easy stroll with lovely scenery in all directions and initially cool and cloudy but clearing from the south west to sunny skies and another one of those marvellous winter days that make us forget it's winter in Cape Town. The rain fell on the other side of False Bay in the catchment areas, so that was all we needed.

Since our last hike there, the path has become more overgrown and so it seems that nobody goes there much, which is a pity as it is so accessible to hikers of even minimal agility. The same litter marked the way, and one of our party, who is admirably environmentally conscious, brought a bag and collected it all on the way back. We should all make more effort to do so, even though it irks us to clean up after litterbugs who neither know nor care what effect their thoughtlessness has on the planet or our pleasure in living on it.

The alien Port Jackson is thriving and getting near shoulder height and the authorities should be actively rooting out this scourge - there are more than enough people who have nothing to do with their days and would benefit from fresh air and exercise and a few bob in the bank.

Whinging over, and back to the joys of hiking in this beautiful country. Early signs of spring were evident, with hyobanche sanguinea peeking out of the ground in the middle of the path - warnings were issued to hikers with big boots! Babiana ringens (if identified correctly) is also too early, but was plentiful and a first observation for me - very attractive red and yellow. Pelargoniums dotted the landscape and a lovely display of chasmanthe covered the north-facing slope at the foot of a rocky ridge, enjoying the sunshine. Lobostemon and ericas pleased the eye, and the rest remain unidentified, due to the richness of our floral kingdom and the impracticality of putting together a reference book with 9000 colour plates!

One sadness of the day was coming across a rivulet filled with hundreds of tadpoles. There is no rain forecast before Tuesday, and the tadpoles were barely covered by the shallow water. They will no doubt be high and dry in the next day or so unless the mountain can squeeze out a continuous stream to feed their puddle, and so the harsh realities of raw nature were demonstrated by these hapless tadpoles.

A balance between Man and Nature

Took a walk on the wild side - of the garden, that is - to see how the lemon tree is doing. I recently sprayed it with an eco-friendly spray to get rid of the aphid/whitefly population that was infesting it in droves. I couldn't reach the highest parts without giving myself an intensive treatment too (although at least I know I won't get aphids on my face) and so there are still areas which are infested. A golden orb spider has set up web and home between the lemon tree and the honeysuckle, rather inconveniently blocking easy access to the actual lemons when I want to pick them. I don't want to sever any of the web links (sounds a bit technical, doesn't it?) so have to ease my arm through the branches, running the gauntlet of the vicious thorns this particular variety of lemon tree bears.
As I peered short-sightedly through the gnarled branches, I spotted a large brown ball slightly larger than a cricket ball and immediately thought it might be the fungus that killed off most of the Port Jackson trees some years back. I reached out and poked it with my finger, and it immediately dissolved into a seething mass of ants! It was an ant nest, the ants being a little larger than the Argentinian species, and in no time they were swarming up my finger and biting in self-defence against this most unwelcome intrusion! I beat a hasty retreat and left them to regroup and settle back into domestic bliss and went to fetch the camera.
I had to poke my head through the spider web to get this rather poor shot, but there was no other way to get near it. The pic with the leaf shows the food that they are living on which has obviously attracted them to make their nest in a tree (I wonder if this is normal ant behaviour - any ant specialists out there?) and so am relieved that no poison was used. I won't be spraying again, as this will destroy this little ecosystem out there in the wilds of the back garden. After all, isn't that what we are trying to achieve - a balance between man and nature?